


Shine a Light in the Tenebrous Orifice

by insightful_username



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Depression, Eating Disorders, Idols, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, M/M, NO.MERCY references, References to Depression, Sad Im Changkyun | I.M, Suicide Attempt, but not really, hyungwon’s just tired, jooheon and minhyuk are bff’s, kihyun and hyunwoo are parents, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 08:26:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19787062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insightful_username/pseuds/insightful_username
Summary: Changkyun’s entire life has been too long, too tedious. But when everything becomes unbearable, a day feels too short. He has so much to do, so much to say, and he can’t do anything about it. Especially when he’s so, so tired.And when he has everything planned out, Wonho calls. He has no choice but to call back.





	Shine a Light in the Tenebrous Orifice

**Author's Note:**

> Australia: 13 11 14
> 
> Canada: 1 833 456 4566
> 
> China: 800-810-1117 (landline) or 010-8295-1332 (cellphone)
> 
> France: 01 45 39 40 00
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> Hong Kong: 2896 0000
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> Ireland: 116 123
> 
> Mexico: (55) 5259-8121
> 
> The Philippines: (02) 804-HOPE (4673) or 0917 558 HOPE (4673)
> 
> Thailand: (02) 713-6793
> 
> U.K.: 116 123
> 
> U.S.A.: 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

He writes.

He writes, and he writes, and he writes because it’s all he knows. He writes because he has too many thoughts flurrying around for his brain to hold. He writes because he knows that once he stops, he’ll never start again.

His pen scrapes along thin pages, indenting the delicate sheets with sound-barrier-breaking speed.

And on the wooden table, it scratches. The ball in his ballpoint pen is racing to catch up with his flooding thoughts and emotions.

It’s a quarter past two, and the ambient light shining across his numbed face does nothing to quell his exhaustion. But his thoughts are almost free from their cages. They’re almost ready to await their reader’s minds.

He falls asleep just before two-thirty, slumped over at his desk.

~~

It’s just around five when Changkyun wakes up, and he gets back to his room no later than five-twenty. He’s lying in his bed, feigning sleep, his notes in the bureau next to his bed. It’s seven-forty-eight when he skips over the framed picture in collecting dust atop the same cabinet. And it’s seven-fifty when he begins to shower. He spends too long thinking about it as he rinses his hair from beneath the scalding water.

It’s eight o’clock sharp when he greets Kihyun for breakfast, it’s just the two of them there so he doesn’t put the effort into excitedly clinging onto the other male. He just sits down at the kitchen table and waits. He’s playing with his sleeve as he watches the other tread around the kitchen like a graceful water nymph, seamlessly chopping vegetables and frying the rice in a seeming tandem. He mumble jiggled his leg as he watches

The others slowly when Kihyun announces that the food is finished. It’s not bland by any means, yet he can’t find it in him to finish it. He’s pushing his food around by the time they’re finally all together, minus Wonho (said male always says he prefers it over Hoseok). There’s still seven plates on the table, and none of the other six mention it. They’re still too tired to do much about it.

Wonho excuses himself in favor of squeezing in time at the gym and just grabs a protein bar on his way out. Jooheon and Minhyuk stumble in together, they’d slept in the same bed last night. Hyunwoo is still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and Hyungwon is forcefully dragged from his bed by Kihyun, still half-asleep as he slinks into the kitchen to join the rest of them. It’s always been like this, so he can’t help but smile.

It’s nearly nine when Changkyun gets up to help Kihyun clean. He’s scraping Wonho’s dish into a Tupperware when he hears Kihyun say, “Don’t, it’s not worth it,” to his own food. He doesn’t question it, he doesn’t want Kihyun to get annoyed, but it still strikes him with confusion. Why? He wants to ask. What’s going on that he doesn’t know about? Why does everyone else seem to know? But he continues as if nothing ever happened.

He transfers the food from the plate to the garbage bin beneath their sink and continues to help. He’s drying off the dishes and putting them into the dish rack as the T.V. plays softly behind them. At some point, maybe two minutes after Kihyun last spoke, Hyunwoo enters. The tall man whispers sternly into Kihyun’s ears. He ignores the way the older’s hands naturally gravitate towards the shorter’s waist.

“Hey, Changkyun, I’m sorry—,” Changkyun interrupts Kihyun, “Just go, there aren’t many dishes left,” Who is he to interrupt some dire conversation just because he’s too lazy to clean up alone? He takes the plate Kihyun’s been scrubbing for minutes that’s crusty because there are seven of them, and some dishes just haven’t been able to breathe in several days. He shoots the two of them a soft smile as they nod in tandem.

Changkyun listens as the water begins to run again and Kihyun and Hyunwoo’s joint presences disappear from the kitchen. He rolls up his sleeves all the way up to his elbows, his gloves just barely protecting his arms from the harsh suds. It’s nine-ten when he finally finishes and exits the kitchens with dry hands and aching arms. It’s nine-fifteen when Jooheon pounces on him. He doesn't flinch, but Minhyuk, who’s still snuggling up to Jooheon’s side, whines at the sudden movement.

He can’t help but smile at they fall into old habits. He runs his colored fingernails through the older’s hair, gently combing through the messy tendrils. It’s ten when he speaks over the white noise of the show they’ve watched too many times.

It’s ten when his thoughts become too overwhelming and he needs to speak.

“Let’s go do something today,” he announces to the two others listening, as if the thought hasn’t been in the back of his mind since forever ago. He’s a mess of confusion and regret right now, but he just wants to spend time with his family.

“Do you have something in mind?” Jooheon responds just as softly, lowering the volume of the T.V. to reveal the true volume of their dorm. Hyunwoo and Kihyun are hurriedly whispering through the cracks of the door while Hyungwon snores softly next to them.

He contemplates, then nods. He hopes it looks that way. He’s too deep in his thoughts to tell. He speaks, “Let’s go to the mall.”

The idea of normalcy has never been possible since they’d debuted all those years ago. He just wants to feel it at some point without being crushed by both the weight of his chest and the fans vying for their attention. But he just wants to feel normal, wants to feel like a kid who hasn’t wasted his childhood.

Jooheon looks at him from his lap, understandably confused while Minhyuk frowns. The older speaks, “If you want to buy something, you can do it online. There’s other stuff we could do.”

He flinches his hand away from Jooheon’s hair and ducks his head when the slightly older male sits up. He can’t think of anything else. He can’t think of what normal people do, what normal people want, what normal people think.

He needs this, but he can’t voice it.

“Oh, hey guys,” Wonho returns at ten-fifteen as he’s floundering hopelessly on the couch. Hyungwon is pushed awake to make room for Wonho and the latter speaks, “What’s going on?”

He needs to find it. Any semblance of stability before everyone’s gathered in the living room. But he’s grabbing at loose threads and praying that everything won’t fall apart.

“Can we go to the mall?” he asks when no one else speaks. He doesn’t know if he’s speaking loud enough, he could barely hear his own voice through the pounding of his heart. But he looks up at Wonho expectantly, ignoring the opening of a door in favor of a silent plea.

He knows it’s impossible, yet the inkling of hope praying for it to be possible hasn’t died yet. He hasn’t been to the mall as far back as he can remember. And as he hears a high school drama play faintly in the background, he’s reminded of all he’s heard and read about teenagers overseas.

Their manager’s not even here. Hyunwoo has to act as the mediator whether he wants to or not. So he walks over to Changkyun, placing a hand on Changkyun’s stiff shoulders, and speaks in the same sedated tone they’ve known for years.

“Changkyun, let’s just stay home.”

That’s fine. That’s perfectly fine. He just needs to spend time with his family, whether he can or cannot handle the walls closing in on him. He’s fine. He smiles and looks around at the rest of his family members’ faces, “Yeah, sure. I’m okay with that,” Wonho hops into the couch and on top of him, not giving him time to react, evidently satisfied by this. Kihyun and Hyunwoo, however, are not. Kihyun is calm when he calls Wonho’s name with a quick, “Hoseok.”

Changkyun doesn’t miss the way Wonho flinches against his body, but doesn't do anything but wince slightly. Jooheon’s long since turned the television back to full volume, invested with whatever they’d missed. Minhyuk’s leaning his head on Jooheon’s shoulder. Hyunwoo, Wonho, and Kihyun have all retreated to the same room the eldest and youngest of the three were in a few moments ago and Hyungwon’s just dazedly watching the show.

~~

It’s already eleven when all of them are reunited in the living room, huddled together on the too-small couch, comfortably lying on each other like a real family. He likes how each one of them feel normal doing this. He likes this. He likes the small slips of gentle fingers on his back he gets from each individual member with no attempt to linger. He’s not in Boston anymore. That’s all he needs to remember.

At eleven-oh-five, he comes to a revelation. He needs to finish everything he’s once wished for in one day, and they’re halfway through the day. The main track of whatever drama they’re watching echo out into the room when the male protagonist speaks his lines. He has to tell them. He’s known this since he joined the band, he’s known for years. But for the first time since he’s known, he wants to tell someone.

He doesn’t bother reaching for the remote and pausing the show. His own confession is no more important than the show they’re watching. It’s not in the foreground. He sucks in a deep breath, still scared for his life, though.

And he says it, “I’m gay,” and that’s all he ever needed.

Perhaps the other members don’t hear him. Maybe they do and disregard it. Maybe they think he’s just trying to get their attention. Maybe they already know. He doesn’t know which one, but he’s not being bludgeoned with acerbic words and piercing stares. He isn’t pushed over, dragged around by the ear and into a tight locker, getting an effervescent drink spilled on him, or called terrible, terrible names. No one hurts him despite his unorthodox confession of his deepest and darkest sin.

There isn’t an audible response, yet he feels the group of tight-knit friends—brothers—grow closer together. More hands make their way to the small of his back, each of his shoulders, his clothed legs to comfort him. It doesn't, but he doesn't tell anyone. He’s scooted closer to the center, sitting with members on each of his sides. Although Hyungwon’s lied across multiple members including him, in a sleepy, nearly sedated trance.

He likes this brotherhood so much, he wishes it would last longer than it will.

~~

When Kihyun suggests that they should order pizza at twelve-thirty, Changkyun is in ardent disapproval. He’s being selfish, but he can’t handle it.

He needs it to go according to plan when so much has gone wrong already.

He begs

He pleads

Changkyun might as well not try if his day goes any less according to plan, so he begs Kihyun with his puppy-dog eyes, his lips pursed into a pout, he begs until his lips are dry, and his tongue gets numb, and his face hurts from his attempt to keep a steadily pitiful face for his older friend, and when Kihyun looks at him with the same suspicious eyes he’s known for years, to a degree concerned about what’s up with him and what he’s doing and mostly annoyed with how much he’s demanding today when he usually complies, sitting innocently and watching as his older brothers eat whatever they want to eat all while giving him access to a small portion of their food or helping Kihyun distribute their meals to each member with no qualms about it and eats with the others, but Kihyun’s greets not by answers, but pleas.

He gives into Changkyun’s innocent expression by twelve-forty. He’s positively glowing with an aureate sheen when he finally sits down, with all his members by his side, at one this afternoon. But when he sees Wonho pick at his food, the gnawing guilt returns at full force.

He can’t eat anymore, but he has to. He’s the one that forced Kihyun to do this, after all.

He’s selfish and that’s why everyone else is suffering.

~~

Someone hears him. Someone has to, his desperate cries claw for escape, being sedated only by his tight lips. He hears it, it’s all he ever does. So why does nobody ever respond to his call?

~~

He’s hurting. He’s hurting so much, he can’t breathe.

But he knows it’s almost over. He’s almost as free as his jumbled thoughts spilled onto his thin sheets of lined paper. He’s ready to join them.

~~

By three o’ clock, he’s nearly paid his restitution for everything he knows his hands can’t convey without muddling in a dark ink stain on his perfectly white paper. They’ve dispersed mere moments ago, maybe at around two-fifty-seven, so he’s lying in his bed, scrolling through his phone. He’s modeling the closest effigy of normalcy as he could manage, his sock-clad feet curling around his bedsheets as he looks through social media.

He’s not too invested, though he _does_ see the sparse posts not necessarily hearing his faint calls drowned out by the voices of other fans and his other members, but helping amplify it, if not by a little. But it’s so dark, and he feels so alone, he can’t seem to find the gleam of light peeking through the small hole he’s tried to dilate before. Even so, they small posts seem to brighten the beam ever-so-slightly to greet his blackened cage.

All he can focus on is his picture frame of himself and his family—not with the band, but with his blood relatives—and how much he loves it. How grainy the photo is and how they’re not necessarily centered and how the lens flare is nearly blinding when combined with the glare from the ceiling lights and how it's so shaky, their faces meld to nothingness and how he can't remember when any of this was. His parents, his brother, and himself are the focus of the image, yet his eyes gravitate anywhere but there.

There’s a face messily cut out of the photo, the hole of just another hollow memory.

A memory to fill the glasses he can’t seem to count the number of.

~~

Changkyun’s things are still strewn around where Kihyun hasn’t bothered cleaning. His studio’s mostly clean, if not for the pens and papers strewn about like the wreckage left by a catastrophic tornado, or the aftermath of a narcissist with absolutely no talent auditioning for a talent show and Simon Cowell’s berated the competitor into the ground with terribly jeering words. His bed’s still not done, but they’re all guys and none of them care too much about it. He still has clothes lying around as well, too dirty to wash with his members’. His words scribbled out onto thin paper are tucks inside his drawer, under his personal items no one dares touch. His plans for today all culminating to the same end goal.

He is, at this point at least, too old to still live like a college student too stressed out to even fathom cleaning his room. Minhyuk doesn’t seem to mind the mess so he’s never bothered (he’s also always in his studio working on everything he can before he can’t anymore, but what does that matter?). He’s been meaning to clean for weeks at this point, and it’s not exactly four yet, but he figures he might as well start early. The sooner he starts, the more he can do.

The one day where he feels he has something to accomplish is the day where he doesn’t have enough time.

Time’s moving too fast. The day’s almost over and now he needs to do so much, he can’t bring himself to do it anymore.

~~

It’s five-ten when there’s a knock on the door. Someone’s rung them up just a few minutes earlier with a delivery. It’s something Wonho ordered so he doesn’t care too much seeing as it isn’t his. He’s long since finished cleaning his room, or at least his side of the room, Wonho’s nowhere to be seen and Kihyun and Hyunwoo are more than distracted while he’s pretty sure everyone else is either asleep or just too lazy to care, so he goes to answer the door.

“Delivery for a…,” the delivery man’s reading the tag, but Wonho’s already swooped in, almost too overwhelming for the doorway. Changkyun likes to think he’s attentive to detail and careful when it comes to these things. It’s why his grades were so good in school, at least up until his sophomore year.

He wonders what else he’s missed in his other members while he’s been so centered within himself, too scared to come out of his shell.

“Hey, Changkyun, what’re you still doing here?” Wonho has the gall to sound amused as the door swings closed and snaps him from his reverie in a full body flinch. He’s still confused, still wondering why he’s missed so much. The taller man gets closer and speaks again, “Kookang? What’s wrong?” And he catches sight of Wonho and remembered just how infatuated he was by the man. How infatuated he still is.

The overhead light is by no means flattering. He can see how tired the other is, how deep the eyebags run into his skin. He sees Wonho’s wrinkled forehead as he tries to garner some sort of response out of him, but to no avail. There’s a sheen of sweat that greases up the taller man’s skin where he remembers the air conditioning in Wonho’s room broke a few days ago. Wonho’s so wonderfully imperfect, he wonders when the bifurcation of Wonho and Hoseok’s mixed.

Wonho’s the beautiful, flawless world famous K-pop idol and Hoseok’s the faint ghost of a flawed person Wonho just wants to forget. But Hoseok still exists inside of him whether he wants him to or not. Hoseok’s still the imperfect, borderline immature and petulant person Changkyun knows he tries to hide with the glamorous exterior. But the cigarette smoke’s dissipated into the air and the drinks have long been spilled down the drains. Wonho’s evolved, but so has Hoseok.

Changkyun thinks it’s beautiful, too blinding for him to deserve to see.

He itches with emptiness and drowns it with the numbness he’s been addicted to since he was merely a teenager begging for some way to cope with how lonely he’s been feeling. He’s not The Weeknd, he’s not sure if he can like it.

He has to smile, “Yeah, what’s that?” he asks when he remembers where he is. He’s not sitting in a dirty McDonald’s bathroom in the middle of Boston begging for an escape from everything he’s ever hated. He’s a world famous idol who no more than a few days ago returned home from a tour with the rest of his family by his side.

His brain helpfully supplies how undeserving he is. How he’s just a decorated boy from Gwangju who’s traveled around so much, he’s an amalgamated mess of different cultures where he doesn’t belong anywhere; and he sure as hell doesn’t belong in Seoul.

“Oh this li’l thing? Nothing of note,” realizing he may be excessively shifty and dismissive, Wonho backtracks, “Like… I don’t know, ramen, protein?”

Changkyun fights the urge to duck away from under Wonho’s strong arms when the taller man wraps them around him.

And suddenly, he’s eleven again, confused and cold. So, so confused.

~~

Changkyun Im is not a victim.

_But it hurts so much._

Changkyun Im is not allowed to feel so alone.

_But he feels so cold._

Changkyun Im is not to be pitied.

_But he didn’t want it._

Changkyun Im is twenty-three when he doesn’t want to feel so muddled anymore.

~~

Their manager graciously delivers them fried chicken at six. And they’re all settled back onto the couch by six-ten. There’s a volley of indistinct conversations over the muted drone of the T.V. flourishing to reveal something intended to be of note, but turns out to be anticlimactic to even the stars on the show. He’s not actively participating in one, though he does listen in on Minhyuk and Hyungwon’s conversation about nothing at all.

He’s in the midst of ripping a piece of chicken from its bone when Wonho catches his attention. He vaguely hears the other’s conversation with the supposed parents of the group. There may be a mention of Changkyun himself, but he can’t really hear. Jooheon’s complaining in his ear about the disappointing turnout in whatever show they’re watching, he’s not actually interested, but he doesn’t want to hurt his closest friend‘s feelings.

“Hey, Changkyun?” it’s louder than all of them. Hyunwoo standing up, shifting the entire balance of the couch to elicit a colorful response from the others using his body as a headrest. Said man frowns, sets the remains of his drumstick on his plate, and following Hyunwoo. He’s kind of nervous, Hyunwoo can’t hurt him despite his strong physique, but Hyunwoo sure as hell can admonish him to hell and back. They’re the most ‘I’m not mad, I’m disappointed’ lectures he’s ever heard.

Stopping by Changkyun’s recently made bed, Hyunwoo puts his hands firmly onto Changkyun’s shoulders, sending his hackles into overdrive.

“What’s going on?” Hyunwoo’s an intimidating figure. He’s tall, fit, and difficult to read. But when he speaks, he’s calm, inviting even. If not for Changkyun’s adamancy to hide within himself, he’d spill the entirety of his plans to the man.

“Why?” his reply is more than equivocal, it’s deflective. But he doesn’t want to answer, he can’t.

‘You’ve been acting weird all day,” Hyunwoo picks up his photo, “And Kihyun wanted to ask about this.”

His family portrait’s not a secret. He keeps it on his bedside drawer after all. And from afar, it’s deceptively normal. And Hyunwoo’s fingering _his_ picture and _his_ picture frame in his hands.

Hyunwoo… has Changkyun’s photo andhe’saskingaboutit.

Concealing his reaction with his hopefully still impervious resting face, he eyes Hyunwoo and speaks, “I’ve been tired.”

The older man clicks his tongue, “No, Changkyun, it’s not that. If you were just tired, you wouldn’t come out. You wouldn’t want to go out to the mall. You wouldn’t want to clean your room.”

Someone hears his calls—more than one person’s heard his calls; someone can finally see how much he’s hurting and now he doesn’t know how to react, and while he still wants someone to help, someone to help him out of the cage he’s in, he’s still the one with the key and he’s still the one who doesn’t allow himself to escape. Then he remembers. He’s not the only one that’s suffering. He’s not the only one desperate for an escape.

“I only wanted to go out because I wanted to check out the stores. I can’t seem to find any properly fitting shoes for this season. I came out because that’s something you guys should know. And I cleaned my room because it was getting annoying,” he’s not the only one suffering. He’s not the only one suffering. He’s not the only one suffering.

“Then the photo?” Hyunwoo’s still holding his picture.

“I…,” he’s trapped at a crossroad where both sides are rampant with traffic, “That’s—well… it’s nothing.”

He sees Hyunwoo flounder.

“It’s not nothing, Changkyun.”

He slinks out of the room. He doesn’t want to remember.

~~

It’s seven when he finally escapes the line of questioning.

Changkyun’s tight-lipped, he doesn’t let anything slip. But he’s not relieved. Not when he knows, he knows, he _knows_.

It’s racing through his mind.

Wonho’s skipping meals in favor of protein. Wonho’s gone for so long. Wonho’s still trying to get bigger. Wonho’s reactions are the same to tight shirts, muscle tees, crop tops and heights. And everyone’s acting weird in response.

He backtracks.

Maybe, just _maybe_ , he’s being too presumptuous.

~~

They watch a move until it’s ten. They play an intense few rounds of _Smash_ before they deem it to be their bedtime.

It’s ten-thirty and they’re supposed to have a schedule tomorrow.

Changkyun can’t be on his phone. Minhyuk would definitely awaken to its intense light. So he blares his music in his headphones, praying there’s not enough leakage for Minhyuk to hear.

He’s lying on his back. He takes sneaky glances over to Minhyuk.

His plans would be ruined if Minhyuk’s awake for them.

Minhyuk’s too much of a puppy for Changkyun to go through with it if he wakes up. He’d look at Changkyun, pout already equipped, and he’d fall into temptation. He wouldn’t be able to go through with it.

~~

It’s two, almost three in the morning when he’s positive everyone’s asleep. He’s taken off his headphones and listened to his roommate’s soft snores before he leaves his room.

He’s too determined to leave to notice anything of concern for him. So he makes a beeline for the front door, a note written haphazardly and affixed to his pillow, and he heads out.

~~

Changkyun has one of Kihyun’s knives tucked into a makeshift sheath inside his bag. He has pills rattling faintly in a small pocket in his bag. He has a bundle of nylon rope in his bag as well. He needs to make sure the day’s over when it is.

He’s expecting to maybe see one or two headlines about him. Maybe hear his family through the clouds moving on. But he mostly expects to see himself as a blip, a farce in the entertainment scene that should’ve never been chosen.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is to see Wonho already there.

~~

“Kookang, hi.”

“Wonho,” Changkyun can’t hide his surprise, so he trudges up to Wonho. He’s just so, so tired. He forces a smile and leans against the balustrade.

There’s a silence where he’s left to drown in his thoughts without drowning himself first. He ponders. It’s too late to save him, the boy who’s been broken since he was eleven, the boy who’s been confused since he was eleven, the boy who’s been so, so numb since he was eleven. He doesn’t understand. Why is Wonho where he is when the man has so much more to do, so much more to accomplish. His life’s been over as soon as it started, or at least not long after. He has nothing to live for, but Wonho does, even with an obviously personal issue. And if Wonho isn’t here for the same reason as him, why _is_ he here? Why? Why? Why?

“It’s nice outside, right?” Changkyun nods. Wonho continues, “I couldn’t sleep, but this place always relaxes me.”

It’s so peaceful here, is Changkyun actually about to ruin this?

“When I see myself and I remember how much stronger Hyunwoo looks. How much more deserving of being a leader he is. How small I am compared to him. I just hafta come here.”

He should’ve realized it sooner, yet he’s still so deep in his own bubble, he hasn’t noticed Wonho’s cries for help.

“Why are you here, Changkyun?” Wonho says softly, as if talking to a frightened animal, “I’ve never seen you here before.”

And it’s back to him. He can’t tell Wonho. He can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

“I couldn’t sleep, my studio’s too much of a mess, and I didn’t want to wake Minhyuk,” Wonho exhales out, smoke idling momentarily in the doldrums of the sky before lazily drifting out to the stars. Changkyun’s curiosity gets the best of him so he asks, “I thought you quit?”

“I did,” Wonho ever-so-slightly moves closer to him, “I only do it to relax.”

He nods in acknowledgement. Accepting that his plan has already gone to ruin, he goes to get up, but Wonho stops him not by reaching out for him, but by speaking.

“Hyunwoo’s doing a good job, right?” Wonho stubs out his cigarette, rapt with reminiscence. He’s facing Changkyun, his eyes glossy with sadness, confusion, jealousy, yearning, loneliness, or at least that’s what Changkyun thinks, “He’s much better than me, right?”

Changkyun takes a moment to process this, “No, I mean. He’s a great leader, but you’re a great friend.”

Wonho laughs despite the tears darkening the concrete below him. Changkyun wants so badly to hug the older, brush the tears off until he’s gifted with the effigy of uniformity, as if nothing’s ever happened. He can’t, though. He doesn’t feel comfortable in his skin, he doesn’t know what’ll happen when he’s so tired. Wonho smiles, “You’re sweet, Changkyun.”

Another silence, and Changkyun wants to explode. He wants to help Wonho, especially when no one’s ever helped him.

“I think you’re so strong,” he looks over at Wonho, sidling as close to the other as possible, “You’re an amazing person,” he reaches a hand out to rest on Wonho’s shoulder, “You shouldn’t compare yourself with Hyunwoo,” he’s touching Wonho. Changkyun’s touching him, and he’s perfectly fine, “You’re great at singing and dancing and writing and composing. Just because you aren’t the leader doesn’t mean you’re any less than Hyunwoo, or any of the rest of us.”

Wonho’s stuff as he says a quick, “I know,” but Changkyun can still hear the wavering of his voice as he grabs onto any semblance of stability through the billows of dark smoke he’s trapped in.

His mind supplies belatedly that maybe, Wonho’s the same as him. A boy just begging for someone to answer his call. A boy being pulled down to the bottom of the ocean, crying for help as he falls further and further down and his cries grow quieter and quieter and quieter.

Chsngkyun needs to find Wonho through the black, but he isn’t even deep enough inside of it. Changkyun doesn’t know what to do, so he speaks as if he’s never had any inhibitions in his life when in all actuality, he’s surreptitiously terrified, “I came here to kill myself.”

~~

That same oppressive silence returns again, and he just can’t breathe. He feels so weak, so helpless, so alone. He’s that thirteen year old kid again, a small flask tucked into his pocket as he wallows in the McDonald’s bathroom at four in the morning because he has absolutely nothing and no one. He’s that thirteen year old that doesn’t know what happened when he was eleven, and hates himself for it. He’s that thirteen year old kid decorating himself in sinful secrets because there’s nothing else he can do. There’s nothing else he knows to do.

“Why?” Wonho responds.

 _Why_ is he telling Wonho this? _Why_ does he want to? _Why_ doesn’t he tell anyone else?

“I don’t know,” he says all too sardonically, and he _doesn’t know_ . But what he _does_ know is that Wonho needs saving, and maybe, just maybe, he can save himself in the process.

A pregnant pause and Wonho confesses, “I don’t like my body. No matter how hard I try, I just see Hyunwoo and I just hate myself. I see other idols and I can’t even compare.”

He panics. He owes Wonho an explanation now that Wonho’s confessed his sinful secret. He has to explain why he can’t bear to look at Wonho as his own hand rests stiffly around Wonho’s shoulders. Why he’s so quiet in the dorms. Why he can’t emote properly. He leans over the balustrade, wanting so badly for this to be over. So he inhales this deep yet tremulous breath, feels as the aftertaste of ash rests on his heavy tongue and lingers for one, two, three seconds, before he can finally speak.

“My family and I were visiting family in Gwangju—we were still in the U.S. at the time—and one day, my uncle… he comes into the room I’m staying in. And he tells me to be quiet,” he doesn’t cry, he’s too numb, “And I became so, so confused. I didn’t know what to do so he tells me—he just tells me to be quiet again.”

He’s making it all about himself again. But he opens his mouth again, doesn’t risk looking back up at Wonho, and continues, “‘Why?’ I’d asked myself, ‘Why, why, why, why, why? If we’re family, if he truly loved me as family, why was he hurting me?’”

Wonho’s a presence over his shoulder. Wonho’s a wavering mess that doesn’t know what to say or what to do. And he’s leaning further and further over the bannister, feeling too much of nothing and just not enough of everything.

“I’m sorry, that was probably too much, right?” He asks quietly, smiling as if he isn’t seconds from breaking down. His knuckles are white with exertion as he squeezes onto the handrail as if it’s the only thing keeping him sane.

And as he looks down into the murky water, he feels so much ire, he just wants to jump. He hates his uncle, he hates himself, and he hates Wonho for listening. He hates feeling so small when he wants so badly to feel like a normal person again. He… he wants to hate everything that’s making his life so wrong, but he can’t. He can’t hate his uncle for as awful as his prepubescent body felt afterwards, and he can’t hate Wonho for trying to be a good friend—for being a good brother. All he can truly hate is himself and how he got himself into the situation.

A minute, ten minutes, half an hour, an hour, an eternity. That’s how long the tepid cessation in all movement lasts, and that’s how long he’s scared for.

“You've went through a lot, Kookang,” Wonho says, his voice suddenly fond as if reminiscing of a bright sunny day in his childhood where everything seemed picture perfect. There’s a terse silence again that Wonho interrupts it with a groan of annoyance, “We… we put you through so much too, I-I’m sorry, Changkyun.”

His eyes shoot wide and he suddenly stands taller than he’s ever felt in his life, “No, no, no. I'm… Im not… _y’know_ because of ‘NO.MERCY.’”

“God, I know, but we didn’t see. We didn’t see how much you were hurting.”

Changkyun sucks in a breath, “We didn’t notice you hurting either.”

“I’m not,” Wonho says all too quickly, skipping multiple beats to respond. He sighs, “I can’t say I've ever been in too much pain before.”

He has to turn around and face his friend head on, “You can’t say you’re not in pain when you think you need to be so much stronger. Other idols love you and your wonderfully benevolent personality and your strong physique. You don’t need to get much stronger than you already are.”

“I—it’s hard to feel so much smaller than everyone else, whether I am or not… I just want to feel bigger than someone in my life,” Wonho says wetly, sniveling into his loose long-sleeve t-shirt’s sleeve. And Changkyun doesn’t know what to do. He reaches over again, more trepidation in his every step before he takes the leap of faith. He doesn’t set a hand on Wonho’s shoulder. He doesn’t reach over from three feet over, too scared to even get close to the other man.

Changkyun wraps his arms around Wonho, and for once, he’s not scared completely shitless.

For once, he feels normal.

**Author's Note:**

> Some extra stuff:
> 
> 1\. An article, "Clinical Correlates of Planned and Unplanned Suicide Attempts" claims that some scientists' data concluded that a history of hopelessness correlated with childhood sexual abuse have a higher chance of planning their suicides than cases of unplanned suicides. This is in no way definitive, but it served as somewhat of an inspiration for Changkyun’s motivation in this. 
> 
> 2\. ‘Body Dysmorphic Disorder: A Struggle For Men Too’ highlights a branching disorder: M.D.D. (Muscle Dysmorphic Disorder) that suggests that while we as a society believe men should be tall, toned, and generally strong, some men just don't think they're "big enough." but because mental health isn't a character trait, I tried making him as close as he is in real life as possible except I'm bad at characterizing characters so he's vaguely empty.
> 
> 3\. I know Changkyun actually spent his early life in Boston (as in he moved back to Korea when he was nine), but I made him stay until he was in his teens. I don’t know why I did it, but I did. 
> 
> 4\. I read from an article (https://lonerwolf.com/meaning-of-numbers/) that states that 4 represents stability and calmness where I tried to make the paragraphs where Changkyun feels some semblance of calmness all four lines long, but I know that didn't really work out. I hope it didn't seem too forced because it's part of the weird third person stream of consciousness thing I tried to do.
> 
> 5\. I read that rumination is really major in the minds of depressed or anxious people, so that’s my feeble attempt at justifying how repetitive this is.
> 
> (p.s. Generally, as a loose extra caution, again, I want to say that mental illness and sexualities aren't character traits and I really tried characterizing Changkyun with this in mind, but I’m still shitty at characterizing actual characters.)
> 
> (p.p.s. Please tell me if I wrote this poorly. I don’t want to have portrayed any of these struggles in a way that’s unrealistic. I also recently got my wisdom teeth removed so some of it also might not make sense.)
> 
> (p.p.p.s. This ending may imply that the effects of sexual assault and depression may go away in an instant if the sufferer finds the right person or something in that caliber, but that’s not what I want. Also, I might add something like an epilogue or whatever.)
> 
> (p.p.p.p.s. Yes, the title is the essence of shoving a flashlight into a fleshlight, and I’m not ashamed about it. It also doesn’t make sense in the context of the story, but I just thought it was something lighthearted for a hopefully dark story.)
> 
> (p.p.p.p.p.s. And yes, I tried to do research, but it’s still really awful at conveying what I wanted to.)
> 
> (p.p.p.p.p.p.s. Finally (probably) I know B.D.D. is technically a branch of O.C.D., but in this case, it deals with the sufferer’s weight, which is why I tagged it as an eating disorder. And also, I know I wrote it so that Changkyun found out shockingly easily, but that’s not what always happens.)


End file.
